“Alone” is a small word with big meaning. Whenever I hear the word “alone”, I think to myself how nice it would be. Not forever, mind you. I’d just like some peace and quiet in my own home. The thought of being in my house without anyone else, without chores, even without dogs just gets me excited. Of course, it would have to be during the day for it to count. I could cook naked and sing along with Meatloaf at a deafening volume.
I never worried about being alone in the sense that I’d never have friends or get married. Even in grade school before I met my best friends, I was confident that I’d eventually have fulfilling relationships. Once Michelle and Jeanine came into my life, I knew I had all I needed. Now that I’m married with children, there’s no way I could ever feel truly alone.
That’s not true, actually. If something horrible happened to my family, after the initial mourning time I suppose I would feel lonesome and therefore alone. Even then, I’d still have my parents and friends. If they were to be taken from me as wellâÂ?¦I would crumble. The thought of being lonesome for a substantial amount of time is pretty scary. I prefer to think of being alone in the physical sense.
Sean gets alone time in the house so why can’t I? I want enough time that as soon as he and the kids walk out the door, they’re impending return isn’t hanging over my head. The word alone at this point in life has a positive connotation to it. It means I get to do what I want, how I want, and how loudly or quietly I want. But only if it’s not for too long.

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